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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22464085">Tears</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeesandKittens/pseuds/CoffeesandKittens'>CoffeesandKittens</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, M/M, OH GOD WHY, Sadness, nightime brainfart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 18:20:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>769</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22464085</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeesandKittens/pseuds/CoffeesandKittens</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>I dunno. Just a piece of work where Sherlock gets sad. Really sad. I guess. Maybe. Help</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tears</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock stared into the mirror.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looked at his face, smiling, teeth showing, a rare scenario where he let himself loose, free of the image he projected on to everyone, day in and out.</p>
<p>How... tiresome.  </p>
<p>He looked at his hair, tussed into an unrecognisable mess that deviated from his usual curled up style. The hair stuck out to the sides and flattened at the top. He faintly remembered curling up in a ball on his bed.</p>
<p>How... juvenile.</p>
<p>He stared into his eyes, glistening in the bathroom light.  Something looked wrong about his eyes. They weren’t in his usual sharp glare that pierced through your skin, down to your bones. They looked more carefree,messy;like he was trying to take in everything in the room with one glance. Scattered, even.</p>
<p>How... disgraceful.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What an unpleasant existence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>How overwhelming it was, everyday, to walk around with a brain like his. </p>
<p>Information stored in their correct slots. Clean and efficient. Other people didn’t think like this. Normal people had normal brains. Normal people had their thoughts jumbled up normally. He wasn’t normal. He thought abnormally, his thoughts sorted like a machine.</p>
<p>A machine. He called him that once, didn’t he? That’s what he was now. </p>
<p>A machine. Sounded pleasant enough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something streamed down his face.</p>
<p>Salty. </p>
<p>What was it?</p>
<p>tears </p>
<p>t e a r s</p>
<p>t  e   a r    s</p>
<p>no </p>
<p>stop</p>
<p>He was crying. Unnacceptable. How dare he. Those traitorous eyes. He decided that they would be the second last to go. Second last to be set free from this misery they called life. </p>
<p>The last would be that monstrous brain of his. </p>
<p>The one thing standing in his way from being normal. From being apart of the Ordinary.</p>
<p>From being just like him. </p>
<p>He was normal. </p>
<p>He didn’t think Sherlock was normal. He thought he was....</p>
<p>brilliant</p>
<p>amazing </p>
<p>
  <strike>frien</strike>
</p>
<p>not a</p>
<p>freak</p>
<p>monstro u s</p>
<p>ho w  co u  ld  y ou</p>
<p>ma c  h    i n  e</p>
<p>He was a machine. </p>
<p>There was no denying that.</p>
<p>He wasn’t human. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Splitter splatter. </p>
<p>Drip drop. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>One by one, they rolled down and hit the sink. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Splitter splatter. </p>
<p>Drip drop. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wasnt there something else on his face?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sniffed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Blood. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t mind the blood. It made his face more colourful. It gave it some... appeal. </p>
<p>Maybe he would love Sherlock with blood on his face. </p>
<p>That wishful thinking. </p>
<p>Nothing but wishful. A hopeful glimmer of light in his despaired brain. </p>
<p>How futile. </p>
<p>It was squashed like an insect. Dead before it had a chance to breed and cover his mind like a plague. It lay on the floor. Legs in the air, twitching, a foolish attempt at resuscitating the body. </p>
<p>Sherlock left it alone. It could spend its final moments in agonising pain. He wasn’t going to show the vermin the mercy it didn’t deserve. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sink was stained red. </p>
<p>He aimlessly drew tiny pictures in it. </p>
<p>The blood pooled around his fingers, surrounding it. Soon, it would stain his fingers too. A nice, vibrant red. </p>
<p>What a nice thought. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His heartbeat seemed louder than ever. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>One...two...three</p>
<p> </p>
<p>steps up the stairs</p>
<p> </p>
<p>One...two...three</p>
<p> </p>
<p>he should have killed the insect when he had the chance</p>
<p> </p>
<p>One...two...three</p>
<p> </p>
<p>a voice calling out to his hazy mind</p>
<p> </p>
<p>One...two...three</p>
<p> </p>
<p>they spread across his mind, infecting it with futile hope</p>
<p> </p>
<p>One...two...three</p>
<p> </p>
<p>a knock on the door. </p>
<p>His voice. </p>
<p>Johns voice. </p>
<p>He was back. </p>
<p>Back from <strike>his date </strike> the grocery store. </p>
<p>It was good. </p>
<p>Sherlock cleaned up his face. God... the blood. John would have a heart attack when he saw all the that blood. He would be angry when he saw the sink. That would be bad. Very bad. He didn’t want him to be angry. </p>
<p>Sherlock washed down the blood and did his best to scrub away anything that dried.</p>
<p>He could hear John moving around. He gave himself a one up in the mirror, especially noting how pathetic he was looking, and sauntered out of the bathroom in his usual snarky manner. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>John’s cute little eyebrows went up when he saw Sherlock.</p>
<p>Did he miss a spot of blood? </p>
<p>John gave a little huff of displeasure. </p>
<p>“Now, just what in God’s name were you doing in there?”</p>
<p>Shelock felt a spark of joy. He asked something. He cared. </p>
<p>“A little experiment. For a case.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>John walked away to sit back into his chair to read the newspaper. </p>
<p>All was good. John still cared. He still had a chance. Maybe one day, John would grow to love him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And Sherlock would love him too. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for readin this!!!!<br/>Woo<br/>If I made any spelling errors or whatnot, feel free to tell me. <br/>And give me some feedback. <br/>Please.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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